Blood First
by RossZ
Summary: They had made their choice. Rather than live their lives in solitude, they had chosen to go through the Veil. Now reborn as two of the three sons of Merope Peverell, the Lord of the Woodlands, Harry and Tom must forge a new path, but this time, in a much more dangerous game.(AU) Not slash.
1. Chapter 1

**Not beta'd. Tried to find the mistakes, however. I am in need of a Beta, please send me a PM if interested.**

**Warning: ****As this story is an AU crossover story, there will be changes to the protruding history and facts of Westeros. Mostly due to the introduction of the Peverells and magic... More will be explained as events unfold.**

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There, upon the dais, the tall stone pointed archway that surrounded it stood. Inside the rectangular rocks, the black, shimmering curtains of The Veil fluttered silently - its deathly whispers reaching them even at the distance they stood. The natural light coming from the ceiling seemed to give it a more ancient appearance than it already emanated, and it made the uneven dark stone steps leading to it look wet.

"They're louder than I remember them," Harry whispered, and even that seemed to tire him - a drop of sweat slid gently down his dirty cheek.

"No," Tom disagreed from next to him, "They aren't. Last you were here, you were distracted, distraught with my followers chacing you - attempting to come up with a means of escape, worried about your friends. You were unfocused, the soft voices coming from it were the last of your worries."

A shiver ran through Harry's spine as he recalled the incident and the battles that had ensued that day. The feeling of helpless that overtook him when his friends had been held at wand point, and the rage he felt when he lost Sirius. He had been through a lot as of recent years, he had experienced things that made that day look like a play-date, but even so, the events that had unfolded that night stuck to him closely

"What are you two -!" The stunner hit the ministry official in the chest before he could even draw up a shield, and he fell to the floor - silent.

"I didn't think I was going to much help if he had managed to muster up a defence there, heh," Harry meant for it to come out as a joke, but his tired voice made it sound like more of a thankful statement, "Do you suppose this is the best way to go about it?"

Tom Riddle nodded, "I would rather have this than live my entire life in hiding. I've done that too much already. Prison isn't something the ministry has planned for us, you know that. And then there's the potential problem with...you..." The black-haired man drawled.

Harry did. They had taken him once when he had been forced to leave his obligatory seclusion to confirm a piece of evidence pointing to the existence of the masked wizard that had proclaimed himself Ragnorak. He expected to be given the kiss, or to be thrown into the very thing they were about to jump into - but it had been much more for him. He had never known magic could induce such levels of pain.

It was not to even to gather information that he was tortured. It looked to be a sort of therapy for all that had looked on - the onlookers at shed tears of joy at his cries, had smiled at his tears and had adored the sight of his blood. No, he would never be ready for that level of suffering. Death was preferable if that was truly what they were about to throw themselves to.

But what he wanted really did not matter. He _had _to die. There was no choice that could be made here, no vote to be taken - for the good of all, his existence needed to cease here and now.

He took a step forward.

"Are _you _sure you want to do this, however?" Tom stopped him, despite himself.

"You know I don't have a choice."

"Yes you do," The former dark-lord turned to him, an eyebrow raised, "You're more than capable of avoiding the ministry, and if I were to jump in alone - the Death Stick would fall to you. As such, because you possess the other hollows - you would be unstoppable."

"The ministry isn't the problem, Tom," Harry argued, a groan escaping his lips. He felt a headache coming along. Having absolutely no interest to be the master of death, the only reason he hadn't given Tom Riddle the cloak of invisibility was because it had been in the Potter family for generations, he couldn't throw it away just because he didn't want it. If it was going, it was going with him - if not, no one else would hold onto it.

"You are well aware of what'll... happen -"

"You mean what I'll become?"

"What will happen," Riddle insisted, his stare blank, "It wouldn't be difficult for you to avoid it. Take every precaution, do not be complacent -"

"I don't think," Harry paused briefly, gathering his thoughts, "If this 'Ragnarok' was from when he says he was, wouldn't that mean this has already happened? That they had already stopped him, but even so, there was something that occurred that _made _this supposedly all-powerful magical being take this particular path again. Blimey, Tom, it could be this. I probably chose to not to go into the Veil now, and then... I -"

"Alright," Tom sighed, edging forward towards the Veil. Harry only stared at his back, but he stopped short of the dark shimmering curtains of the old object, "Five, Harry."

"Uh... Sorry?"

"Five. Five houses, five of some of the most ancient bloodlines - the Potters, Gaunts, Fleamont, Peverell, Slytherin, - all of them, wiped out because of the two of us refuse to live... I'm inclined to call us fools for letting all that history spill into nothingness," He sounded displeased, almost angry - but Harry knew he wasn't second-guessing this, he was only frustratingly thinking of the effects it would have.

"There are others who have our blood, so all those houses won't be completely annihilated."

"Harry, we've both supremely inherited our magical bloodlines. There are _no_ others, everyone else's blood is far too diluted to inherit anything in our names. Normally, ours would be too - but we're their _direct_ descendants, and that's what makes us different, so powerful. We're oddities."

"We're also quite modest."

"You're funny," Tom shook his head, his gaze still set ahead of him. He shook his head, another matter coming into mind, "What are we gonna do with the Deathly Hallows?"

"Throw them in, of course," Harry began trudging up the step, towards Tom and the Veil, "If that doesn't work, we destroy them here and now."

Tom was quiet for a long moment, and Harry began to grow worried. They wouldn't have time to destroy them if they waited any longer, soon enough - the unconscious aurors absence would be noted, and then they would come running and stop them from going through it. Harry had just been involved in the longest battle of his life, and would be no good in another. He was tired, and his magical reserves were near empty.

The Riddle flicked his wrist, and the Death Stick slid into his hand - he raised it warily. It always seemed to whisper insidious thoughts, vengeful murmurs, and silent threats. It was a wand whose wood was as dark as night - wood that would corrupt anyone but it's chosen wielder. Though, Harry had learned - the extent of its negative effects could almost be ignored if you shared its creators' blood deeply.

Without any word or warning - Tom threw the wand want into the contorting magic. It stopped inside the Veil, neither disappearing nor shimmering out of existence. And for some reason, Harry knew what to do and from the expectant look he received from his cousin, he did too. His hand fell into the pockets of his tattered robe, rummaging through the extended mess for a minute before retracting his arm, the invisibility cloak in hand.

"Please pull out the stone from my pockets with magic, there's so much in there," Harry walked up to the veil, and threw the folded cloak into it - he barely felt the stone float out of his pocket. The cloak unfolded on it's on in the wavering magic - as if being laid flat on a bed. The wand changed its position, entering into the right sleeve - covering the handle of the object, leaving only the upper-half towards the tip visible from the fabric of the cloak.

The Riddle threw the Ressurection Stone at the chest of the cloak, but it too shifted, completely disappearing into the left sleeve.

"That's -!"

A blinding, white light exploded from the veil - making both of them stagger back, with Harry actually falling to the floor, covering his eyes. The hairs at the back of his head rose, and he fumbled for his wand - intent on fighting with the little energy he had if whatever was happening here would unleash something that would threaten their lives. The amount of magic that came with the wand was palpable and made the air sting slightly.

But it soon disappeared, leaving no evidence that it had ever been there - Harry heard shouting from the corridor that led into the room.

"The bloody hell was that?"

"I don't know, but get off your arse - even the weakest of them would've felt that. If we're truly doing this, we need to go," Tom offered Harry his hand, which he gratefully took with his free hand, "_Are_ we truly doing this?"

"We're doing it," Harry gathered himself, slowly walking to the Veil until it was mere inches from his face, "The voices are still incoherent, even from this close. What is this?"

"Find out," Tom urged. Harry fell forward, silently shimmering out of their plane of existence - with his wand still in hand. More shouting from the corridor and Tom quickly pulled out his Phoenix Feather wand, turning his back to the Veil whilst raising it. He wrote down his firey message, for all of them to see and one day remember. Perhaps then they would recognize their faults, understand what they had been turned into - when they realise the warning came from someone they had perceived as an enemy.

The door burst open, and he fell back. His message still floated some distance from the Veil, levitating in the air with silent dread - simple words that would forever be remembered in the world of wizards and witches:

**'You have doomed yourselves.'**

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A rather short introduction, but the next chapters are and will be longer.

Thanks for reading.

Please review.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Not beta'd. There may be mistakes.**

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Harry and Tom Peverrell walked through the depts of the Fever River, bald cypress and black gum surrounding and soaring over them, shrouding them in shadows from thin lines of sunlight. The slow stream next to them was green with floating algae, drowned trees disturbed the water - or so they would believe. Lizard-Lions were barely separable from logs when they enclosed themselves within the water. The reptiles didn't worry them in the slightest, however. Not much here did.

They were on a hunt. They'd managed to calm the unease of their minders Williamson and Jon, as they had every time they took these hunts. Though, it wasn't much like the two guards had much choice. Tom could be quite authoritative when the situation called for it. Even so, the worry of their men wasn't misplaced. The river was menacing to those who did not know of its dangers. Much like the lurking shadowcat's, the wolves and the occasional bears.

Even so, the dangers those animals posed paled in comparison to the beast they were hunting. They would even go as far as to call it one of the most dangerous in existence. Though Harry sometimes thought themselves to be a bit biased on that thought. Basilisk were quite dangerous, no doubt - but what gave him pause was the question of where _they _stood.

Since they had been hunting the beasts as far back as he could remember, killing them for their meat and hard skin whenever they appeared - did that put them above the serpents? Their father seemed to think so. As did Albus, and Tom. Harry was never quite so sure.

"This one looks smaller than the others," Harry noted the smaller shape of the continuous trail, barely visible because of the recent flooding of the river. Mud and water now covered most of its path proof, making him a bit uncertain of whether he had the right of it or not.

"Maybe, or the river just makes it look so," Tom acknowledged, frowning, "Merlin, we need to make some sort of spell to track them. We've been looking for this one most of the day. The King's party will be close at this point, and I'm not in the mind for another one of fathers scoldings."

"It could have gone passed the Saltspear and into Blazewater, " He suggested, glancing around for any sort of evidence besides the trail. Coming up with nothing again, he concluded this was indeed its trail, "We could return to the Moat. Mayhap come back tomorrow to make sure it's not here."

"No. If it's still here, and another farmer dies, the smallfolk will petition Lord Dustin _again_, and since he's aware of our strengths, he'll petition us, _again. _Let us just be done with it now."

"Perhaps trying to compensate for you was not the best of ideas I've had," Harry stopped, eyeing the ground warily, "It stops-"

"Shh," His brother was quick to silence him as soon as he noticed that the trail ended, and his eyes trailed over towards the dense forestry away from the river.

"Tom I don't believe-" The body of water next to them exploded, sending waves of water in every direction - but Tom was quick to wipe it away with magic, spiralling most of what was going to dampen and slow him away. Harry jumped away, however, just in time to avoid the basilisks first attack. It had tried to end him by biting him with its jaws.

Just as he hit the ground, smoke covered their surroundings, and his vision was locked. _Tom,_ he realized. This was how they usually trapped it. Basilisks used either smell or sight to find and kill its prey. The spell covered both. The smoke gave off both their scents, whilst basilisks vision was covered by the thick cloud. Thousands of years back, it was used as a means for escape. Now, they used it to kill. If Tom could hold his concentration.

But just as suddenly, the hairs at the back of his head rose, and a voice in his head screamed for him to dodge - and he did, lodging himself to his side, just as the smoke cleared and a large head pierced the air where he had just been. The basilisk was indeed not the biggest one they had faced, but it was sizeable enough. It had a plume on its head, leading him to believe it was male if the books on it were to be believed._ What happened to the spell? _Harry could only wonder.

The serpent itself held its head high as it stared at him. But seemingly sensing someone behind it, it raised its tail to swing - and Harry's heart leapt. Moving quickly, he put his middle and index finger together and raised his left hand in a cutting motion. Pain shot out of the hand and arm, but a white, linear spell flew out of the fingers - moving at blinding speeds, and reaching the serpent's neck just as it swung its end.

Harry was surprised to see a greatly cast shield repel the tail, making the already dead basilisks body turn to its side.

All grew quiet after that. No sound but the river as it regained its current ringing in Harry's ear. He relaxed on his back with a sigh, the pain on his left arm becoming more prominent as his heart slowed. He raised it over his face, quite the mistake now that he realised that it bled, as some of its fell onto his face. There was a deep wound over his palm, and some cuts over his forearm.

A moment later, another shadow covered him.

"Did you suddenly decide to take a piss while casting the -"

"I lost concentration."

"Are you sure?" Harry retorted sarcastically. A scowl etched on his features, "It nearly killed you, Tom. And all you can say is that you lost concentration?"

"What would you have me say? It is what happened," He offered a hand to him, and Harry stared at him for a long moment - before taking it, "Even so, thank you. That could have been bad."

"Right," He walked past Tom, eyeing his hand and wiping some of the blood on his face with his other, "That's not amusing, Tom. You never lose concentration."

The elder of the two had nought to say to that.

Harry would have loved nothing more than to have the knowledge of healing spells and a wand at that moment. The cuts hurt more than he could say. They pulsated like a headache, and even though the biggest cut was on the palm, it all hurt the same.

"We should return now before the chances of that getting infected get any worse," Tom levitated the basilisk with a thought. It was simpler to move it this way, but they had brought a wagon for appearance's sake. Only a select set of people knew they could do magic, and their father was content on keeping it so. They would only bring the corpse to the wagon this way.

"And before it leaves my mind, well done."

* * *

In the Maesters quarters, next to the rookery, Harry sat atop an uncomfortable wooden chair - barebacked and surrounded by scrolls and tapestries - a bleeding palm outstretched over a water-filled bucket, droplets of blood falling into it. The blood curled inside the warm water, its dark red colour fading as it spread through the liquid inside the pail. The cut was not too deep, though Harry was certain if it had been an inch upwards he would have lost a finger. And even with Maester Friar washing off the dried blood with a soft cloth - the pain was great.

"Now how would you reason to explain this to others?" Maester Friar questioned, still washing some of the dried blood off.

"I would not need to say much more than that it matters little to them," Harry answered, his gaze holding the blood inside the bucket. The Maester shifted away, leaving the cloth in the buck to acquire bandages.

When the Maester sat down across him once more, he was smiling, "The royal family would have much more to say to that."

"I was hunting with Tom," Harry insisted, "An accident of this sort would not be the first. They should not want any more explanation."

"I would wonder more myself if I did not know of your abilities. Why your father sends the both of you to hunt on your own," The bandage wrapped over his thumb, around his palm, to his knuckles. Maester Friar was fat and short, and though his fingers were plump, he worked well with them. He was one of the few people alive who knew about magic besides the current members of house Peverell and Lord Dustin, and Harry trusted him more than he could say.

"That's because you're a Maester, you always wonder, " Harry grimaced, eyeing his bandaged hand. These were one of the few times he wished he had a wand, so he could have been able to use more advanced magic and heal his wounds at that moment. To search for the needed ingredients was a near-impossible task, as they did not know where to even begin.

The difficulty was that Albus, Tom and himself were the first trio of wizards since Abraham Peverell near three hundred years ago, during the invasion and reign of Aegon - he too had no wand, and to the word of his journals, he did not know how to acquire one. Before him, the last was a Peverell king during the Age of the Hundred Kingdoms. That period was the last time any wording of wands was ever heard and written, and even then, there was no guide on making them.

Even the books and journals in the lords study a had very little information on the creation of wands, only vaguely mentioning that they were made of particular woods and cores. But said nothing about where to search for such parts.

"Well, perhaps you have the right of it," The Maester laughed, "But I do caution you not to use your arm in the coming days" He had done his hand and was now going around his forearm with the bandage.

"Best be thankful it's your left one then, Harry, "Thomas Peverell stood tall and handsome in front of the door. A boy of six-and-ten, he had pale skin and jet black hair. He had inherited their fathers' dark eyes, whereas Harry had gotten their mothers emerald ones - and Albus their grandfather's blue ones. Albus and Tom were twins, and two years Harrys senior.

"And here I was, expecting you to shower me with praise for saving your life."

"I've already thanked you, does your greed know no bounds?" He was grinning when he said it, moving closer to them to inspect the cuts still unbandaged on his forearm, "I wonder how this happened though."

"It's nought but a beast. You know what they can do, Tom. You're meant to be the most manageable of you three, how is it you lose focus enough to be nearly killed by it?"Friar had finished wrapping the wound on his forearm, and Harry was already clothing into his leather jerkin. Tom said nothing, the grin had gone from his lips and he only stared at the Maester with a passive expression. He was always like that with anyone but Harry, hiding his emotion behind a mask to make his expression unreadable.

"It was a simple mistake, I lost concentration."

"Amusing," Was Harrys' retort. They had been hunting a basilisk since they knew what magic was. Tom never simply lost his motive in the midst of the chaos that came with such a task.

"The Kings' procession draws near. The court is gathering in the courtyard, father sent me to ask if you would be able to attend?"

"Now you've gone and changed the discussion, dear brother," Harry knew their father had sent him, but that did not change the timing of the inquiry, "Of course I'm fine to attend. I've never been one to lay still," King Robert had previously passed with his large retinue weeks back, but had not been able to stay for more than a day, moving on with the promise to stay for three days when they were returning to Kings Landing. The crown prince, however, had been a lot less... apologetic.

"I would have preferred if you would not," Of course, Tom had taken it as slight. Though their father had not, they had never seen him as disappointed as he had been that day. That was enough for the second eldest of them to take an immense dislike at the King, and of his eldest spawn.

"Looking for a small victory, are you?" Friar was the one that spoke, frowning.

Tom nodded, slowly.

"You won't get it through me," Harry laughed at the pointed scowl he received, edging toward the door. The Maester was standing to leave with them.

"It makes no matter. There are other ways."

"Do not take this folly too far, Tom," Friar warned him, securing the door to the tower with his key.

"Oh, Tom? I can only imagine that he already has devised something simple, yet effective," His companions had no retort for that. But Harry knew it was because they were out of the safe confines of the Maesters quarters. Where there were no wards to protect their conversations, and all could hear what they spoke of. The ward around the room was the strongest in Moat Cailin, conjured by Tom with all his power and skill.

_'I have,' _Tom concurred inside Harry's head. They spoke like this when they could not speak verbally. Harry knew not how, but they had been able to do so since they knew how to speak. There was nothing regarding this sort of ability in any books they read. Harry liked to play on the idea they had stumbled on something new, Tom was never so sure,_ 'I've had the mind to ask you, what spell did you use to kill the basilisk? It cut clean through it, I've never seen its sort.'_

_'The one we learned a week's past,' _He was mildly confused. They learned all their spells together. One each week, because of how difficult it was. How could he not know one they learned not so long ago? He had even mastered first, as he usually did.

_'Sectumsempra? How did you make it so strong?'_ Tom's eyes glanced at him as he frowned, _' I had cast my own, but it had left only a small mark.'_

_'I cast it as we learned to,'_ That made little sense to Harry. Tom had quite a bit more power than he could ever hope to muster before his magical maturity. By all that they knew, his should have had a stronger effect, _'Think of the spell and its effects, imagine what it would -"_

_'I know how to cast, Harry.'_

_'Then perhaps I just have a knack for it? I don't know what to tell you.'_

_'Perhaps.'_

The courtyard was bustling with activity, as it had been a week's past. Alistair Darling, their steward, looked to be organizing the stable boys and servants. The courtyard was the in-between of two gates - the North and South - with one being able to see both from it, and each connected to dark stone walls. The North Gate had a set of towers overlooking its road from the sides, whilst the South had five. Two on the gate, one connected to the library that was on the side of the path, and two more looming over the courtyard itself.

The North gate was open, but Harry could only see the great basalt curtain stone that was the outer-wall. The courtyard towers were unmanned. _It would only serve to make them uncomfortable, _ their father had said. Harry had understood when he'd caught the Imp glance up towards them more than once.

Servants and those of the household guards had gathered in rows around, with the tall figure of the Lord of the Woodlands at the head of the most prominent group, and their brother, Albus, standing to his. Merope Peverell was a stout man, with pale skin and a small, flat, nose. Dark hair covered his forehead, much like his youngest son did, but Harry always felt that it highlighted his ever frowning lips more than anything else. Just as it did now when the lord regarded him as Tom and he moved to stand next to Albus. Tom to his right, and Harry to Toms.

Albus and Tom were of a height, though one would not be able to tell they were brothers at first glance. The eldest had Auburn hair, piercing blue eyes and a warm smile. Which differed from Toms dark hair and eyes, and less friendly lips. Both were handsome but they had such a different look to each other, it was difficult to see the relation as brothers, nevermind twins.

"Thomas told me what occurred near the Fever River."

Harry wondered what Merope had thought then.

"How are your wounds?" He continued, looking down to the visible bandages on his hand. Albus only smiled at Harry.

"Painful. But not enough to for me to sleep on the milk," Harry answered, smiling to ease his fathers' worry.

_'If only...'_

_'Tom.'_

_'Just a thought,'_ He looked passive.

_'What's this about?'_ Their elder brother involved himself.

_'Tom wanted me to be absent to spite the king.'_

_'I have no love for them either but that's... petty,' _Albus frowned, a confused look etched onto his features.

_'As I told Harry here, Albus, it makes no matter," _Was Toms' retort. Albus just shrugged.

Harry smirked, _'You know, it's not the end of this?'_

_'Indeed. His ideas of spite will likely pull us all down with him.'_

_'Don't act as if you two would not like to get involved in my mischief,' _Tom gave him a pointed look, _'You always drag me with you when you decide to misbehave. Why don't you both just help me with this one thing?'_

The auburn-haired boy smiled, _'You don't need us to deliver your retribution, Thomas. There is much you can do on your own.'_

He shook his head and looked to the path. The court had organised, and the king's party had come into view. This time, however - the golden banners emblazoned with the crowned stag was not the only one. On shorter poles, the racing grey direwolf atop a white field fluttered with the wind. Seeing their sigil, Harry was reminded of what befell Brandon Stark.

_'You think he lives?'_

_'We would've received word by now if he had died,'_ Tom nodded.

_'Father has said nothing to me. So he is likely alive,' _Albus put in.

They had never been to Winterfell, even with how close it was to the Moat. Their father was meant to take Robb Stark as his ward once, and Albus was to go to Winterfell. But the death of their mother had put an end to that. So they knew not how high he could have possibly fallen. But if their towers were of the sort Moat Cailin had, the boy surviving was queer.

The procession was close. Harry had seen and met most of the riders, Jaime Lannister, Sandor Clegane, the pouty Prince Joffrey - and the big, fat man at the head of the column flanked by two members of the Kingsgaurd was Robert Baratheon, and next to him the long-faced Eddard Stark.

As was his style, he had realised, the king dismounted his brown warhorse with a bellow and moved to hug their father. One their father welcomed. The Lord of the North dismounted more subtlely and stood behind patiently as the king Robert and their father shared the hug.

_'We'll be like that too, one day. Both of us coming from our castles somewhere in The Woodlands, Albus ruling as our lord,' _Tom said in his mind, and somehow, Harry could see him smirking.

_'You need not tell me that. I have been having sleepless nights over the thought of him as my lord.'_

Tom was suppressing a smile when the King approached their brother, "Albus" He clasped hand with the younger boy, smiling as he did.

"Your grace," He acknowledged respectfully. And saying, "My lord," When Eddard came close.

"Your grace. My lord," Tom did the same, as did Harry. But the king's gaze fell to his bandaged hand.

"A hunting accident, your grace, " Harry explained vaguely, and the king grinned at him approvingly.

"That's a good lad."

Robert did not truly know the real ends of it. But Harry accepted his words with a smile.

Others were getting off the horses, and the huge double-decked wheelhouse in which the queen rode in had stopped. The need for one so big was lost to Harry, but he supposed he was no southern woman, so he would never understand. Groomers had moved to take the horses that pulled the thing, but a rider had asked if they planned on pulling it away themselves, and they had moved away blushing.

The queen soon stepped out, a ten-year-old Tommen Baratheon timidly walking behind her.

_'What in Merlin's name is that?' _Tom's eyes narrowed.

_'They come with the Starks, no doubt about it,' _The bigger of the beasts was grey of fur, with dark-golden eyes and would likely be on Tom's waist if they measured. The smaller one had the same sort of fur, but a more yellow colouring in its eyes. They walked up to the wheelhouse, sitting next to its door - looking up at it expectantly. The queen regarded them momentarily, but she seemed rapt to ignore them after.

_'Wolves?'_ Harry suggested.

_'Direwolves,'_ Tom affirmed, more to himself than anyone else by the way he had thought.

Princess Myrcella Baratheon stepped out after her. Possessing her mothers' beauty with thick, golden curls. Her face was soft and delicate, with green eyes a shade lighter than Harry's, which matched with the gown she wore. She was five-and-ten and she was of a height with Harry.

Behind the princess, was what could only be Sansa Stark. With her thick auburn hair, vivid blue eyes, high cheekbones. Her beauty would rival the princess's one, he could see it. It was the first time they'd seen her, but their father had once described her when they spoke of the Starks. Her gaze fell to Harry, and she seemed unsure but she turned red when she saw his brothers.

_'Always you two.'_

_'We cannot be punished for you being plain-looking.'_

Harry took no offence. No, he had almost laughed. He never really thought of himself as some sort of overly comely boy who could make the women of the court want to be rid of their apparel with a smile. On the rare chance he did take to note his appearance, he found himself to be quite average. Not quite handsome, though not quite unappealing.

_'What, no one has told you?' _Tom continued.

He reasoned he had to give out some sort of retort, _'I'm interested in seeing what the handsome Tom will have to say to me besting him with a sword with one hand.'_

_'Hahaha,' _He was not laughing.

Arya Stark had been the last to step out of the wheelhouse, and the skinny girl looked rather miserable in her blue, sleeve draped gown. Though her mood did seem to lift a bit when she saw her direwolf, and even more as it followed her. Harry did not fail to notice how the crown prince looked at them expectantly as the beast drew near, and the disappointment in his eyes when they had just stared.

He was almost tempted to feign being craven.

The moment passed, however, and he just beamed at the wolf with curiosity - sometimes glancing up to the Stark girls, even more so as they were brought forward to be introduced to each other more formally. He was interested in their story, and how they came to be the owners of the direwolves. Though it was not purely out of simple interest, he just wondered if he could acquire one of his own. Or something else of his own, maybe even a basilisk.

And why not? He could speak the language of the serpents as easily as the Common tongue. Truly taming and understanding one should be a simple matter. Yet again, now that he thought about it, he could understand lizard-lions just as easily. Harry found the notion of having a lizard-lion following him to be a far less interesting prospect than the basilisk.

_'I don't think others will enjoy the wolves too much,' _Harry knew what Tom meant by _others_. Moat Cailin was riddled with different sorts of snakes. Which roamed around the confines of the castles, and even inside around keep. They never really bothered anyone, preferring to rid the keep of rats than hurting any man. The 'spitters', as they called them, were the most common around this time of the year, but Tom had a milk snake he had befriended that forever roamed the corridors.

Befriending one wasn't something particularly difficult. Though most of the serpents saw them as more masters than friends, and they had the odd habit of referring to them as kings.

_'It will be interesting for certain."_

Tom snorted.

Albus grinned.


End file.
